Collaboration
by The Firm
Summary: Alex Rider is on the run. And thirteen people are writing about it.


**A/N:** Hey, everybody!

Welcome to The Firm's story. For those of you who haven't heard, The Firm is a collaborative of AR writers who have been working for the past few months to write a story together round-robin style.

These authors, in order of appearance, are:camnstarr4eva, Jusmine, Nyxelestia, Arithilim, DreamsInBlackAndWhite, Emmy-loo, vampassassin, CunningMascara, Simply Shelby, mml94, Saynt Jimmy, whatever95, and vballmania23.

The asterisks (*) in the story represent a change in author. We hope you enjoy the story! (And remember to review, of course! ^_^)

---

He ran.

They were right behind him.

The breath caught in his throat, a sure sign that he'd been ducking and diving for far too long. His throat was tight and raw, mouth on fire, mercury and molten splinters, blood juddering through his system, warning signals shooting up his spine from his leaden legs, willing him to give up.

Nothing too hard, just to stop running. To stop driving himself onward, to stop fighting the exhaustion, to let the momentum take him a little further forward, then slowly, gradually…

_No_. He clenched his jaw and forced more life from his battered body. If he weakened for even a second they would have him. His determination pushed the tide of pain aside. He pushed on.

*

It was getting harder. His legs had learned how to talk, and they were screaming at him to _stop running_. They were gaining on him. He could hear the engines of their motorbikes behind him. The lucky bastards didn't even have to run. Which made sense when Alex thought about it, because when had he ever had the advantage? Now they were too close, but Alex couldn't do anything about it. He was already running as fast as he could, and they had guns. He didn't.

*

Everything burned, but he'd be damned if he let himself get caught now. He'd been working like this for months - and he almost had MI6 in his hands. He wasn't going to let his possibly-last chance of freedom from them be ruined by a few SAS lackeys. But he had to work carefully - even if they weren't allowed to kill him, he couldn't afford to get caught. Besides, he didn't doubt that they could make non-fatal tactics at least very painful, indeed.

Veering onto a narrow, much narrower, road, he twisted on his heel and ran straight towards the bike - and in between them. Almost immediately they stopped, smart enough not to try and turn around after him all at once. Being that they were in fact his old unit - the very reason Alex suspected they had been sent after him in the first place - he knew how they would work. It was the only advantage he had, and he was going to milk it for what it was worth.

*

Up ahead he saw a track twisting off to the right. It was also narrow, he knew, surrounded on one side by a steep, wooded incline, and a sharp drop on the other. They'd be forced to slow and go one at a time - any mistake would send them down into the ravine. Making his decision, he turned, taking the path. There was a part of the rock face up ahead that, while still steep, could be climbed. He'd have to move fast - he heard the sound of engines already - but with the precious seconds he'd gain by switching direction, he hoped there'd be just enough time for him to scramble up. There it was, the section of rock. Not even pausing to think, he threw himself up, clambering as fast as he could. From what he could hear, the bikes were almost on top of him and he was only halfway up. He knew in that moment that he was not going to make it in time. Climbing desperately, he realized that he was just not fast enough. There was going to be a few fatal seconds where he was horribly exposed, where any member of his old unit could easily pick him off. Sure enough, he heard the sounds of the engines right behind him a moment later. He was so close, his fingers grasped the top of the ledge. He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the shout from below, pulling himself up, praying to a god he didn't know he believed in that just maybe out of some misplaced familiarity his former teammates would hesitate that crucial second to pull the trigger, and he would be out of sight.

*

Gun shots rang out, bullets shattering into the rock face, shards ripping past his legs and feet. But it didn't matter. They were only warning shots. He hauled himself over, whipping his burning legs behind him, sucking air in greedily. He scrabbled in the dirt, his aching limbs betraying him and falling from under him twice. He didn't have time. Already he could hear them making for the rock face. Good. He was lighter than them and had probably gained a few more precious seconds with his gamble. Around him cover was scarce, a few sickly purple plants the only shrubbery clinging to the dusty rock. A few yards ahead a small outcrop of rock ledges jutted from the ground, leading on into a similar crevice. He propelled himself forward with the desperation of a drowning man and stumbled again, slicing open the palm of his hand on a small, sharp rock. He hauled himself to his feet for a third time and dragged his fatigued body across the top of the plateau. In his pocket, something buzzed loudly. His fingers scrabbled inside the pocket, clenching around his phone. He dived behind the rocks and sprinted between the ledges, his feet kicking up clouds of dust, painfully aware of how sparse his cover was. Any second they would be over the edge, racing after him. He didn't have time to check the phone but he had to. He darted wildly to the left, vaulting a shorter section of rock and hauled himself on before collapsing onto his knees and scrabbling for his balance. Behind him another shot whizzed over his head.

*

The rocks he had chosen to scramble through only provided a scrap of cover; not tall enough to hide behind, nor plentiful enough to get lost in. But if he remembered correctly, there should be… Yes, there it was. The meeting of two larger boulders created a crevice just barely wide enough to house him. If he could squeeze himself in there and inch backward, he would be out of their reach. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do for now. He had a phone call to take. Throwing himself onto his stomach, he directed his feet toward the opening of the cave - though it wasn't really large enough to be called a cave - and pushed himself backward. His shirt, already in tatters, rose above his stomach as he inched further in. He could feel the small rocks cutting his abdomen, but he didn't have the time to care. He just barely made it in. By the time he felt that he was sufficiently hidden, he could hear footsteps approaching.

*

For a split second, Alex was torn by indecision. He could feel the phone in his pocket still buzzing like a hornet, furious with its imprisonment between tightly clenched fingers. He wanted to answer it right then, but the approaching footsteps distracted him. Surely he should at least try to figure out what his pursuers' next plan of attack would be? But then, logic shoved panic and adrenaline aside. He was safe from his ex-teammates here. For a few minutes or so anyway. Deciding at least to keep his voice down, Alex shakily unclenched his fist and took the call.. Angry mutterings and deliberate footsteps in the dust could be heard outside. His name was said more than once and with no fondness. Alex tried to ignore it, and concentrate on whoever was waiting on the line. "Alex Rider." The voice on the phone was one that both haunted his all too frequent nightmares and sounded to him like a guardian angel (which meant he was either really desperate or suffering some sort of stress-induced delusion as there was certainly nothing angelic about this man), "I was beginning to think you weren't going to answer my call. Bad manners aside… I was wondering, would now be a good time for me to offer you some assistance?"

*

"Now that you mention it," Alex heaved out, attempting at sarcasm, "help would be greatly appreciated." The call ended (and Alex expected nothing less from the man) leaving him hunched in momentary silence before the eruption of swearing from several meters behind him and the sound of skin against skin. Alex closed his eyes. His legs, reminded him that they were on fire. His lungs said that they were cold and pleaded for some more air. The blackness drew in. Alex would have passed out but for the fact that a flashlight was suddenly on his closed lids, snapping his eyes open, and someone with decidedly blond hair was telling him to get up.

*

It was a terse, no-nonsense order. Alex squinted into the blinding beams and began to feel as though he'd been thrown into some sort of nightmare. One where allies hunted him down and… this. It was a thoroughly frustrating situation - him literally flat on his back and his mind drawing a blank. Desperation sung through his veins, flooding his ears. Suddenly the men's voices were closer and the man shifted his attention. Alex didn't hesitate and certainly didn't stop to question why the man had let himself become distracted. Grabbing hold of the torch for leverage, he twisted their arms in an attempt to gain the upper hand, but the man deftly broke free simply by letting go of the torch. Alex flashed his newly-acquired item, the only weapon handy, directly into the man's eyes and demanded, "What the hell is going on?"

*

"Cub, we can talk about this back at HQ. All I know is things have gone to shit and it's because of you. Blunt wants you brought in immediately. He says you've broken the terms." Alex wished silently in his head that he had managed to receive more of Smither's incredible gadgets before he'd been brought back. A pen grenade would have been welcome. But of course, that was how Alex's life was dictated. When he needed something, it was just out of reach. The call hadn't improved his humour in the slightest. The phone thrummed again in his hand, this time a message. "Cub - Alex, what the hell is that? Have you got a phone with… It's true, isn't it? You tracked him down and you're with him now, aren't you?" Alex grunted, shifting. Dirt was pushing into the cuts on his stomach. That wasn't good. He ignored the blond and pulled the phone in front of his eyes, squinting at the message. '_Get to the top of your rock. We're on the way.'_

"Alex, get up, now. We have our orders. You have nowhere to go." Nowhere but up, Alex reasoned. He nodded and made an affirmative grunt, sliding on his stomach out of the small chasm in the stone. The blond stepped back and moved to lift him to his feet and Alex hefted the torch, skulling him heavily with the little strength he had left. The blond crumpled to the ground, out cold, and Alex leaped over him, clawing his way gracelessly onto the top of the two boulders. He waved the torch in the darkening sky somewhat pointlessly and smiled grimly at the sight of the familiar black helicopter skimming over the crags. It made him shiver to see it and he had to remind himself that they were on his side. He heard the shouts of K-Unit, desperate to reach him, but they were too late. By the time they'd swarmed towards him, closing in, he was already dangling from the harness above their heads, the helicopter pulling up and away easily. They fired a few shots but Alex was already being lifted into the helicopter by the winch system. He collapsed over the side like a fish out of water, just in time to see the patrol that had distracted his pursuer engaging his old unit in fire. He wondered blankly if he could be given dishonorable discharge. "That was much too close," a serious voice intoned, sending every single hair on his neck straight up.

*

"Really?" Alex gasped as sarcastically as he could manage, collapsed on the floor of the black CH-53. He glared up at the stony face of the killer standing over him; the man who had saved his life and ruined it in just a matter of minutes. "Because I really hadn't noticed." At first, he wasn't completely sure whether the man had heard him over the loud rotor blades beating against the wind -- the door was still open so it wasn't muffled at all - but once the man's dead eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare that could kill a man at fifty yards, Alex knew he had. Normally, he would've known better than to provoke the man who had killed more people than Alex had met in his lifetime, but as he sat there, hunched over, trying to catch even the slightest bit of air, he found that he really couldn't be bothered to fear him at the moment.

"Now Alex," he started, his voice dangerously low, but clear as day to Alex, despite the deafening noise from the helicopter. "Those men didn't seem very pleased to see you. Imagine what they would do if they were to somehow find out about what _really_ happened in Vienna." He paused, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the color draining from Alex's face. "Such a shame, really, all those people..." He trailed off before finishing with a sadistic grin that made Alex's blood boil with hatred. "...gone..."

Alex's jaw clenched as he tried to restrain himself from jumping up and punching the bastard where he stood. MI6 couldn't find out. His old team, Tom, Jack; none of them could know what had happened. What would Jack think if she even found out? Would she be horrified? Disgusted? Would she hate him? _It's Jack. _A voice in his head told him as if the answer were obvious. _She'll understand more than anyone. That was all self defense. But these assassinations... how can you live with yourself knowing that you just murdered a little girl's father. You _shot_ him without even seeing his face. _This_ would disgust Jack more than anything you've ever done._

And suddenly, Alex felt that he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He didn't care what would happen if MI6 found out; he didn't care what this man would do to him if he left; he didn't care if he was sent to prison for what he did; hell, he didn't care what would happen if he jumped out of the helicopter. He couldn't stand the thought of Jack actually be disgusted of him, being scared of him. He glanced out of the open door to the crystal waters of the ocean below him. Was it worth it? This was his freedom. He could get back to MI6, confess everything, and live with the consequences; or he could stay with this _murderer_ for another six months and continue to carry out these groundless assassinations until he would eventually kill himself from the guilt. He made his decision.

*

He jumped out of the helicopter, because in that infinitesimal and sickening second the young man who had seen too much realized something. No matter what he did he would be someone's lackey, their slave. Yes, MI6 had enslaved him to a life of debauchery and lies, but the other choice was being a cold blooded killer. No matter how many times he had killed in self defense or otherwise he just couldn't be an assassin. He could not stand any of these choices, so he if Alex Rider was going to die, it would be fighting against the waves. He was going to die free, rather than being someone's plaything. He hit the waves with a large splash and the waves immediately fought to consume him. They tore at him with vicious ferocity and Alex thought that now would be a good time to give up. His lungs filled with the black sludge and he fell under the waves._I'm sorry, Jack..._

*

The assassin stood on the edge of the helicopter platform, effortlessly keeping his balance as it swayed and dipped. He watched Alex Rider plummet down into the waves then closed his eyes to imagine the sound of him hitting the water. It would be like a sharp crack, he thought, followed by a whoosh as water was displaced by the boy's body. In calmer waters, one would be able to hear the droplets as they pattered down afterwards, like rain on a spring day. As the wind whipped his hair and he imagined his partner's long-awaited downfall, the assassin's face contorted into an alien expression; a smile. _Finally._ He turned back into the helicopter, securely fastening the door behind him.

To the small fishing boat trawling the seas, the black helicopter was nearly invisible in the night sky. It blended in perfectly with the permanent layer of smog that floated above, and nothing could be heard over the harsh clashing of waves. So when an average-sized man plummeted down from what appeared to be nothing but (relatively) clear skies, the night watchman was amazed. After shaking away his immobilizing shock, he dashed to the prow of the boat and rang the warning bell. "¡Hay alguien en la agua!" He called, raising his voice to a bellow. "There's someone in the water!"

---

**A/N:** We are hoping to write another chapter to this story. If anyone is interested in participating, please message camnstarr4eva, and she'll get back to you. Please be warned, however, that we might not accept all requests - we're looking for writers of a similar to the writers who wrote in this chapter.

Also, check our profile and get involved in the word prompt challenge for May. Great fun, that. :D


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